


when i take it out, you start cryin'

by brophigenia



Series: Pynch Week 2018 [7]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blowjobs, Dancing, Day 7: Traditions, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Gay Club, M/M, Mild D/s, No Real Spoilers for TRK, Possessive Behavior, Pynch Week, Pynch Week 2018, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Nerd Adam Parrish, Sub!Ronan, Who hasn't gotten a bj in a gay club bathroom, amiright?, but that's tame too lmao, dom!Adam, gansey's big bi coming out extravaganza, kind of??, post trk, really filthy, so this isn't the usual 'traditions' but hey, sort of? i mean four shots and then getting sweaty on the dancefloor isn't really drunk??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “Weren’t you inMad Max: Fury Road?”A skinny-looking kid in a pair of very short denim shorts slurred, pressing all along Ronan’s front and gazing up at him like he was a beautiful mirage. Adam could relate, but he could also tell when Ronan was about five seconds from a total meltdown, so he shook the kid off of his boyfriend and shoved them the rest of the way to the bar.(Henry Cheng sends out e-vites for Gansey's Big Bi Coming Out Extravaganza, Ronan and Adam have sex in a gay club bathroom. That's it. That's the fic.)





	when i take it out, you start cryin'

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhhhhhh title from big sean's 'so good.' I'm not sorry about any of this. I am filth. This is filth. This is based loosely on my own gay club experiences. Very loosely. 
> 
> Don't fucking look at me. I'm not sorry.

Ronan was… not a bad dancer, as it turned out. Not with four neon yellow shots tossed down his throat within the first half-hour they’d arrived to what Henry had dubbed in his e-vite  _ ‘Gansey’s Big Bi Coming Out Extravaganza, Part One.’  _

(The fact that the name implied this was only the  _ beginning _ of the  _ festivities  _ didn’t worry Adam initially, but once they’d arrived at the aptly named  _ Meatlocker _ his anxiety began to form.) 

Blue had been waiting for them at the bar wearing a leather jacket with truly  _ impressive  _ spikes on its shoulders, drinking a beer, when they’d arrived. It had taken twenty minutes to push their way over to her from the door, even with Ronan’s sheer bulk and the promise of a violent death shining in his eyes. Strangely, this only seemed to  _ encourage  _ their fellow clubgoers to sway their way over and try their luck. 

Adam had never seen Ronan so baffled; the absurdly gentle way he shoved away some of his more  _ earnest _ suitors had Adam practically in hysterics. With each approach Ronan’s feathers seemed to become more ruffled, until his shoulders were nearly up at his ears and his eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline. 

“Weren’t you in  _ Mad Max: Fury Road?”  _ A skinny-looking kid in a pair of  _ very  _ short denim shorts slurred, pressing all along Ronan’s front and gazing up at him like he was a beautiful mirage. Adam could relate, but he could also tell when Ronan was about five seconds from a total meltdown, so he shook the kid off of his boyfriend and shoved them the rest of the way to Blue. 

“Hey, sailors,” she said in a smoky kind of voice, and then laughed loudly when Adam could only blink in blank surprise and residual attraction in response. 

“Where’s Dick?” Ronan asked brusquely, shoving his hands in his pockets. His cheeks were flushed— whether from the heat or embarrassment, Adam was not sure. 

Blue raised her left eyebrow and took a pointed sip of her beer before she answered. Adam appreciated the power display; he’d missed Blue and Ronan’s perpetual pseudo-sibling rivalry. Ronan was vibrating with annoyance by the time she answered. 

“Do you see those cages over there?” She asked, seemingly apropos of nothing. In fact, Adam did not catch her meaning until he  _ caught her meaning,  _ and by that time Ronan had already begun swearing in a long, semi-good-natured stream about how he  _ should’ve brought a fucking camera.  _

In all the years Adam had known Gansey (nearly six, now, with them all twenty two and somehow still alive and kicking) there had never been anything he knew of that Gansey had only done halfway. In theory, Adam shouldn’t have been surprised that when Gansey decided to submit himself to a  _ Big Bi Coming Out Extravaganza,  _ he’d  _ really  _ commit to it. 

In practice, Adam could honestly say he’d never anticipated seeing Richard Gansey III shirtless in a cage, writhing up against Henry Cheng above a whole floor of practically-fornicating clubgoers. 

Gansey continued to surprise him, which he supposed, a bit hysterically,  _ kept the magic alive  _ in their friendship. 

By the time he was able to tear his eyes away, Ronan had already downed three little shot glasses of something that smelled alarmingly like banana Laffy Taffy and was bringing a fourth to his mouth. Blue egged him on, and then leaned over to murmur something in his ear that made Ronan’s expression go positively mutinous. 

With not a backwards glance, Ronan shouldered his way onto the dance floor. 

Blue snorted and hopped off her bar stool to speak into Adam’s good ear. “You’re welcome.” She toasted him, and then slipped off so that Adam was alone, clutching an unopened bottle of water. 

It wasn’t like Ronan was performing any… athletic feats, like some of the other dancers. He wasn’t bent over or, uh,  _ bouncing  _ anything. His shoulders moved to the bass and his hips to the rhythm of the bumping hip-hop song playing. It was like all the awkward stiltedness had melted off him though, and he was all of a sudden the Ronan he’d been, illuminated by fire and highlighted in blood, every time that he’d been let off the leash back at Aglionby. Someone dangerous and full of wildness. He’d become a softer version of himself in the years since it had all ended; Adam hadn’t  _ missed  _ the old Ronan, per se, but seeing him now made it clear that this was the Ronan he’d first fallen for. The one he’d  _ looked  _ at. 

He watched, for a couple songs, as Ronan danced. Alone, until he wasn’t anymore, approached by some blushing, knock-kneed baby gay (a term he’d learned in Berkeley and hadn’t ever used out loud) in a mesh tank top. The kid’s hair was shaved down to stubble like Ronan’s, though it was violently pink. He stumbled at first, blushing even darker until his cheeks matched his hair. Instead of laughing, Ronan just set his hands on the kid’s hips and manhandled him until he caught on, moving the way Ronan instructed him. It reminded Adam bizarrely of the boxing lessons Ronan gave Opal sometimes, even though it was really nothing like that at all. Only Ronan’s expression, intense and focused and  _ instructional,  _ was the same. 

The kid plastered himself to Ronan’s front and Ronan appeared to tolerate it with a touch of amusement, gamely laying his hand on the kid’s lower back. He was so skinny that the width of Ronan’s hand spanned his hips completely; Adam knew the touch of those hands. Adam knew, and so he shouldn’t have felt rankled when the kid seemed to be driven as wild as Adam himself would be by the touch, but he  _ was.  _

And Ronan, the shit, was grinning at him over the kid’s shoulder because he  _ knew.  _

Adam realized he was about to pop the lid off of his water, he was squeezing it so tightly. He left it on the bartop and, feeling a bit lightheaded, made his way onto the dancefloor. 

Adam wasn’t the dancing type. He had no intention of  _ becoming  _ the dancing type; he wasn’t on the floor to  _ dance.  _ He kept Ronan’s gaze as he came closer and closer. The closer he got, the more smug Ronan got, the darker his eyes. The pink-haired kid kept dancing but Ronan went still when Adam was within arms’ reach. Adam couldn’t help but give the kid (who was uncomfortably pretty, glitter rubbed into his cheekbones and lips full) a triumphant look when he reached out and twined his finger’s in Ronan’s, tugging him away easily. 

He felt mean with it, satisfaction sweetly sour in his mouth. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this; knew he shouldn’t feel like a kid who got away with taking away a toy from a baby. But Ronan wasn’t a toy and Ronan was  _ Adam’s,  _ so he didn’t actually feel  _ that  _ bad for the crestfallen look that briefly came over the kid’s face. 

Ronan didn’t mind; he grinned sharp-toothed and skimmed his nose over Adam’s jawline, fond and warm. One of his hands ran down Adam’s stomach, fingertips teasing along the buttons of Adam’s pants.  _ This  _ was a Ronan usually reserved for the bedroom. Sometimes for the BMW, because Ronan was ridiculous and nobody could be surprised by his fetish for the scent of gasoline and the feel of a gearshift in his hand. 

Adam let Ronan tug him along, switching their positions, and didn’t register that they were heading for the bathrooms until they were there at the door. Ronan bared his teeth at the next guy in line. “Use the women’s,” he said shortly, and hustled Adam inside. 

“Ronan, what-” Adam began, murmuring, really not fucking caring. 

“S’ a  _ tradition, _ Parrish.” Ronan grinned. “Never got to do this shit in high school.”  _ This shit  _ was apparently pushing Adam into a stall and falling to his knees, still so pleased with himself. He ran those big hands up and down Adam’s jeans, the denim rasping against his calluses. The bass from the song playing outside thrummed through the walls, the stalls, and Adam leaned his head back, feeling it in his chest. Ronan nosed at his cock through his jeans, unhurried. He liked this. He’d always liked this, even when he was sloppy and objectively pretty bad at it, young and trying to tear the hell out of his throat so he’d feel it later. It grounded him back then, and now he still sometimes needed that. He’d be more upset about it, except for how sucking Adam off was a lot less self-destructive than street racing or street fighting or just generally being on the streets. 

“You like the show?” Ronan whispered, and it took Adam a second to register the question, to understand what kind of mood Ronan was in. Ronan either liked their fucking to be silent or for it to be  _ chatty,  _ and nothing in between; that suited Adam just fine. He’d done plenty of research since the first time Ronan wanted him to talk, put a lot of shit into beta testing. Tried it out. He was pretty much an expert in dirty talking for Ronan Lynch, at this point. 

“You looked so good,” he said, and ran his thumb over the seam of Ronan’s lips. “You always look so good, Ronan.” Ronan opened his mouth and let Adam shove his thumb inside. Adam unbuttoned his pants with his free hand, felt Ronan’s hands wrap around the backs of his calves, curling and uncurling restlessly. He was impatient for it, but he’d wait. Adam knew he’d be wait. “So good,” he repeated, feeding his cock into Ronan’s waiting mouth alongside his thumb, using it to stretch Ronan’s mouth wider. It was something he only used sparingly, since it got Ronan so wild every single time. He wanted to keep it fresh. 

True to form, Ronan groaned deep in his chest and let his eyes flutter closed; the only other sounds in the bathroom were the wet sounds of Adam stirring his hips back and forth, deep in Ronan’s throat and barely pulling out with his thrusts. Ronan’s eyelashes fluttered, wet and clumping together, against his cheekbones. He looked angelic in the fluorescent light, against the black tile. Adam knew he was hard, but Ronan made no move to jerk himself off, hands still wrapped around Adam’s legs. 

“So good, and you wanted me to be jealous but I wasn’t, Ronan.” Adam kept up the monologue. Ronan’s eyes opened, gone black and calm. Centered. Desperate, but willing to put that aside for Adam. “I wasn’t,” he went on, taking a deep breath, trying to make himself last longer. He wanted to finish this, wanted it to sink in. It was important, suddenly. Dirty talk but  _ more.  _ “Because I know that kid’s not got what you want.” He thrust forward a little harder than he had been, a punctuation. Making a point. Ronan moaned, garbled, something like Adam’s name. It made it harder to stay coherent, harder to hold on. He stroked his own cock with the thumb still in Ronan’s mouth, wrapped his other hand around the back of Ronan’s head, cradling his skull. A tender counterpoint to the way he was  _ having  _ Ronan. “Wasn’t jealous cause you’re _ mine.” _ His voice was strained, everything felt too good and too warm and he came like that, Ronan’s eyes rolling back in his head when he felt it. 

Ronan coughed a little when he finally pulled off, a couple drops of come on his lips, swollen and raw. He looked good.  _ Used. _ It was a thought that would’ve scared Adam, when he was younger. When they’d first started doing this kind of thing. Now it just made him warm, like it was extending his orgasm, the knowledge that he’d messed Ronan up like this. He thumbed the tears from Ronan’s eyes. 

“God _ damn,  _ Parrish.” Ronan rasped, and leaned his forehead against Adam’s thigh for a second while he caught his breath. Adam zipped up, noticed that there was saliva on his jeans where Ronan had drooled on them. Ronan rose, a little shaky for a second before he got his footing back, pupils blown like he’d been getting fucked up, and not just fucked. He was hard in his tight pants. Adam reached out and gripped him through them, liking the shape in his hand. 

“You wanna stay or go home?” He asked, taking his hand away and leading their way out of the stall. Ronan laughed a little, hoarse. 

“Fuckin’ seriously?” Adam grinned in the mirror, catching Ronan’s eyes as he washed his hands. 

“We’re here to support Gansey,” he reminded, faux-solemn. 

“So we’ll pay his tab and  _ not  _ put his ass on Facebook.” Ronan retorted reasonably, coming forward so he could hook his chin over Adam’s shoulder, always more touchy when he was like this. Like it was easy for him to be intimate in the immediate aftermath of letting Adam break him like an egg. 

It was pleasant; Adam never drew attention to it, not wanting to risk Ronan getting self-conscious and stopping. 

“I guess we do have  _ Part Two  _ to look forward to.” Adam mused, turning his head to catch Ronan’s mouth. Ronan thrust his hips forward and Adam ground back a bit, willing to extend their lavatory foray a bit. 

The door banged open. “Fuckin’ get out of here-” Ronan started, mouth still pressed against Adam’s. 

“Ronan?” Gansey asked, voice strained.

“Seriously?” Blue groaned.

“Guys!” This last was Henry, beaming cheerfully with his hands already down Gansey’s pants. Blue was perched on Gansey’s back, hands slip-sliding through the mess of what seemed to be glitter and baby oil pooling in his collarbones. It was impressively athletic; in any other situation, Adam may have been reluctantly impressed by their nerve and daring. 

As it was, he only shook his head and started towing Ronan, gagging and groaning dramatically, towards the exit. There was nothing he wanted to add or ask; he wanted to get Ronan back home, and preferably on his back in their bed. Maybe on his stomach. 

“I am, y’know.” Ronan muttered in the car, leaning his head against the window and resting his eyes. One of his hands was curled around Adam’s thigh, warm and without any real intent. Just something Ronan did. One of the little ways he showed he was just as  _ in this  _ as Adam was. “Yours.” He clarified, when Adam made a little inquisitive noise, changing lanes. 

Adam smiled, concealed in the dark. “I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
